Working Girl
by Sushi Bowl
Summary: In the seedy underbelly of the Big Apple, Massie tries to stay alive. Can a certain cop pull her out of misery?


Working Girl

Massie Block stood against the dark alleyway, eyes glistening with terror. Her parents wanted her to become a working girl, to understand responsibility. She had blown away her college money on cheap perfumes and throwaway purses, high-heeled shoes that served no purpose other than to decorate her room, clothes only for the mannequins beside her dresser- _God, _she was such a stupid, naïve girl. Things don't last forever. Her parents, with what small sum of money they had left, gave her enough money to start a new life.

She hadn't realized there was really nothing left. Nothing, _nothing_ at all.

Massie wasn't going to an Ivy League school, couldn't pay for it, had spent all the money on her last grip on staying an alpha in high school, even when she was staying in the same apartment complex as Kristin was. Kristin had originally been incredibly happy after finding out that William Block lost all of his money- on the inside, of course- but it faded away after the athletic blonde, the one with all the answers, realized Massie truly had nothing left.

Oh, Massie kept the charade for a while, _as long as she could- _and she would always be a beautiful girl, always liked for her looks- but her shine began to dimmer. She didn't make fun of the girls wearing last season's jeans with the same tartness, didn't hold her claim over boys as easily as she once had. All of the cash Massie once claimed as her own gave her an ego-boost, a power tryst. It washed away, as quickly as sand gets swept away by the tide.

Little by little, her alpha status fell. Dylan began dating outside Pretty Committee standards, in the deep grunge circles of Briarwood where she met an older, gothic guitar-player. Massie remembered Dylan showing up with dark circles all around her eyelids (and not from a lack of sleep), going in all-black ensembles from Betsey Johnson (insisting that her new, dark outfits were slimming), and eventually, reading those strange Japanese comic books.

Alicia was next, of course. As high school waned on, her clothes slowly winded down. Her cute Ralph-Lauren b_l_azer lost the undershirt, then the top three buttons, then the _bottom _three buttons. She hiked her skirt up after school, showing off her white, slit panties to any boys that wanted to see (and not a single one cried 'Alicia Rivera's Underwear-A'!) Josh dumped her out of disgust; she had become nothing more than a village bicycle: everyone's had a ride.

Kristen faded into a surfer-chic obscurity, still remaining close friends with Massie (they did, after all, live right next to each other.) She, out of all of the girls, realized how much she owed Massie. Massie had, after all, made Kristin. That was why Kristin, even as the other two moved on with their lives, stayed and texted Massie, helped her with her English papers, picked up the pieces.

And Claire- oh, God, _Claire_- was the reason Massie was in this fucking mess-

A voice snapped her back to reality. This was New York. It was really, really late. She was in the alleyway, it was cold, a strange man was pressed against her and she had no one to cry out to. This was not a time to reminisce about how things might have turned out had she gone to college.

"_Listen, bitch." _ The man said, pressing a knife against Massie's throat. "I don't care how much a whore like you cost, I don't have any money tonight."

'I- it's fine," Massie strained her voice against the knife. "I won't charge you like I do all of the others, you can- just don't- please-"

The assaulter mistook her fear of being killed for rejection. He growled, angrily, and pushed his body closer to Massie, the cold knife now pressing down on her chest. Massie cried out loudly, and the robber slapped her.

"_Shut yer trap, whore!" _The assaulter said. "Listen, doll, I've been watchin' you for a while. You're nuthin' but dirty, and it's my job to cleanse the world of all impure femin' e-vul. I'm the_ re-in-car-nation_ of Jack Ripper." His tone grew darker, and Massie could see flames dancing in his crazy, crazy eyes. "You da wurst of 'em all. I can tell, whore, and do y'know what men like me do to tarnished lit-tul girls like you?"

Massie was scared to death, nothing in her life had ever been this horrifying, all of it- all of it was over, she'd practically sold her soul to stay alive in this city. All of it, the sleepless nights, the loveless sex; it was nothing. She was beneath nothing. She had hit rock-bottom, quite literally, going to die in a concrete alleyway.

"_Yer most cer-tan-lee goin' tuh Hell when I'm through with you." _ The serial killer reincarnate stood over her cruely, ready to take his kill. Massie winced, turned her head only to avoid his proud words, words could hurt, she knew that now-

Sirens blared. Lights flashed. Her assaulter let out a string of swear words, and lurched off of her, thundering down the alleyway. Massie cried, out of humiliation and relief, she was safe and yet still terrified. _God_, she barely made it out alive. Her ribcage was broken, she couldn't move- but she was breathing, oh, she never realized how much she loved the taste of oxygen-

"Miss!" A police officer called out, running towards the scene of the crime. "Miss- are you alright?"

A copper, fuck. She could go to jail. She was a prostitute, and in light of what had just happened, she could never stop being one. She was tainted. It was too easy- to give herself up, to get easy money- and she had no idea what she'd do next. It wasn't like she ever truly excelled at anything, other than ordering people around. Maybe she could become a mistress- oh, wait…

The cop reached her, doubling over, panting. Massie hadn't realized how far he'd gone to reach her. He stood up, and grinned slightly at her.

A familiar, sun-kissed face. Police shorts. Bronze hair, a strong chin, dark brown eyes that widened in recognition.

"_Derrick_?"

---

Massie sat awkwardly with Derrick, her ex-boyfriend, in the examination room. Her wounds had been treated quickly (she lied about her insurance, of course) and they were simply waiting for the doctor to sign her out.

"You don't have to wait here, you know." Massie began, staring straight ahead. It could have been any cop in New York. It could have been any cop, on any shift, patrolling any part of New York. God, why _Derrick Harrington_? "I'm fine on my own. I have been for a while."

A dark chuckle escaped the bronzed cop's lips. Massie looked over at the before disheartened cop, who was now almost- _giggly? _Massie was almost positive he didn't break into the doctor's stash of Oxycotin, but Derrick always ran a little on the bad side.

"Are you fucking high?" Massie shrilled, punching him in the arm. It didn't hurt him at all, of course. Derrick had clearly gained a bit of muscle since high school.

"Yeah, that's how I stay so slim," Derrick rolled his eyes, and quickly grabbed the hand Massie hit him with. "You're just so full of shit. How can you be fine at all? You're _fucking strangers for money_."

Massie ignored him, staring at the floor. Those floor tiles, in a pretty blue and white, were really quite attractive. If she ever got any money, she'd have her entire kitchen walled like this hospital. The door opened suddenly, and Massie jerked back from shock. A forty-something Jamaican woman, dressed in a bright white coat, opened the door and smiled tentatively, holding a clipboard up high.

"You're free to go, Mrs. Black," Dr. Rusco said, shaking her braided hair. Derrick looked at her, and Massie rolled her eyes at him. She'd explain the change of name later. "I hope they catch that son-of-a-bitch and send him to jail for a long, long time."

Massie smiled at the doctor, who obviously cared about her well-being. That was nice. Massie had forgotten what it felt like to have someone who cared about you. Derrick pulled her out of the room, and Massie finger-waved goodbye. Dr. Rusco smiled again, broader, and began to organize the medicine cabinent. (Oh, where was that Oxycotin?)

Once in the privacy of the empty, white-painted hallway, Derrick glanced at Massie curiously.

"What was with the change of name, _Black?" _Derrick pulled a cigarette out of his pocket and began to take a slow drag. "I'd have never figured you for the stage type."

"I don't have insurance," Massie replied dryly, reaching for his cigarette. He was much bigger then her, though. "Being a hooker may be a highly paid job, but it doesn't come with health benefits."

"And that's why you're reaching for a cigarette?" Derrick asked, frowning slightly. "I don't think so, Block. Remember the last time we smoked together?"

---

_**Uh, this isn't the sequel to Minimum Wage. It was actually inspired by a review on Minimum Wage, though:**_

_**  
"You should make Massie a drug dealer/prostitute."**_

_**I don't normally write dark stuff, so I'd like all feedback possible on what I can improve. **_


End file.
